


shine a light (into the wreckage)

by Mohini



Series: Ghosts [24]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Recreational Drug Use, Seizures, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: These are the nights that remind him of the oldest baby memories. Yet he says the words they both need to hear, and he hopes there is still truth in them somewhere.
Series: Ghosts [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1100523
Kudos: 11





	shine a light (into the wreckage)

It’s not creepy at all to be sitting on the edge of Tasha’s bed, watching her sleep. That’s what James tries to tell himself, at least. He’s used to seeing this tiny woman child all kinds of fucked up but tonight wins a hell of an award for the least enjoyable in a very, very long time. He’s not the slightest clue what she took, or how much of it she knocked back. He checked her for visible puncture marks when she passed out and came up empty, though that doesn’t rule out injectables altogether. Tasha is both dangerous and creative. The only thing he’s certain of is that vodka was in the mix, and that’s only because he’s on his second shirt for the night after she all but baptized him in it when a hiccup came with rather a lot of substance.

It reminds him in a way that is bone deep of the very earliest of baby memories. Of the scent of booze and the sleep of the deeply drunk. Of the sticky sweet smoke of glass pipes. Of the taste of bitter liquid on his tongue, long before he was old enough to know not to taste the contents of cups left on tables. He doesn’t have clear memories of his parents. He knew his grands better, but they were too old to handle a kid like him, and when they up and died it was group homes or nothing. So here he is. Long aged out of the system, but followed by the ghosts of his past in the form of his deeper than blood baby sister.

Tasha takes a long, shuddering breath and stiffens. James tenses, ready to either grab her and provide comfort or duck to keep from being nailed by a flailing limb. Instead, he curses under his breath as her body relaxes and immediately stiffens back out, the jerky movements making him wish he had a proper med kit on hand. Of the field medicine variety. He’s also incredibly grateful that Steve isn’t home. It’s not the first time Tasha’s seized on him just a little bit, a phrase he’s certain his partner would not agree exists. As long as she’s breathing, she’ll eventually wake up pissed and hungover but otherwise just fine. It’s just a matter of waiting her out, and making sure she keeps moving air.

He shifts from being near her hips to the topmost portion of the bed, giving him the ability to speak softly and still be heard.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “It’ll pass.”

There’s not much else to say. Tasha’s been in and out of consciousness since mid-evening. It’s just past midnight and this is the second seizure and the reason he’s planning to stay right here until she’s properly awake and alert. He doesn’t argue with Steve about much, but the nights when Tasha goes hard like this bring hard truths he prefers not to consider. There’s something in Steve’s own baby memories that makes a barely responsive Tasha all kinds of wrong to him. It makes him insist that the girl needs a professional, and not just a James. James knows that Steve hates this and that’s enough to be sure to keep Tasha sequestered when it happens.

It's more than a little bit of cowardice that keeps him from asking his partner what it is that he’s seeing when he watches Tasha blitzed like this. If he asks Steve, there is a dangerous likelihood Steve will ask _him_ and that simply will not do. Tasha knows. That’s enough.

“Jamie?” a tiny voice rasps from his side. She’s looking up at him with glassy eyes and there’s not much of anyone home.

“Hey Tash,” he replies. He runs the tips of his fingers up and down her slim arm. He wants to pick her up, hold her close, make her safe. But he can’t. For one, it’s not going to change the fact that she most certainly is not safe. For another, he’s not wearing his prosthetic. That makes the logistics of maneuvering a loose-limbed girl into his arms anything but in their favor.

Even utterly blitzed, Tasha seems aware of the missing limb. She nuzzles into him, trembling fingers wrapping around the stump and fitting into the grooves left by the salvage surgery as though made for them.

“I love you,” she whispers. Or she seems to think she whispers. Her voice is loud and slow, consonants drawn out and vowels warbling.

“I love you, too,” he tells her, watching as her eyes roll back again and she fades out. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, and prays to gods he doesn’t believe in that he’s not telling her a lie.


End file.
